Decisivo
by Heroism
Summary: Elsa, now in her third year as Queen of Arendelle, must face an onslaught from the infuriated kingdom of Weselton. While she has grown significantly, is it enough to overcome the scheming duke and his vendetta?
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: The title is Italian, and it literally means "decisive." The idea that spawned this was quite simple: "I've never written a tragedy before." It should, therefore, go without saying that some parts of this are going to be dark. Oh, and this isn't going to be very long**—**_maybe_ six chapters. That's all you're hearing from me for now.**

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><p>"They will fail."<p>

Admiral Westergard wanted very much to shake his head at the comment, but his queen's word was absolute; forever in servitude to her, and forever in obedience to her orders.

"They will still come. Do not forget, Queen Elsa—"

"I need not your concern, nor your pity. I will kill them in an instant, no matter who they are. Perhaps Weselton will finally get the message that I don't play games and have no reason to ever speak to them again."

She was called the Ice Queen for a reason. She would have no reason to not meet out her terms, that much Westergard was certain of. And so be believed her, as well he should.

"Aye, my Queen."

And with that he took his leave, not even requesting it, but he probably wouldn't have received a response in any case. As he shuffled away from the dais and of her impending presence, his leave was punctuated by the shutting of her palace's massive door. And, once again, as she was much used to, she was left alone. To herself and herself only, she muttered, "My words have never been hollow, to my knowledge. Test my patience like that again, Admiral Westergard, and I won't be so gracious."

That's what she would've said to him had he not left abruptly, but the situation didn't exactly call for a reprimanding. She merely wanted to voice her thoughts as a way to remind herself that she still existed.

All those people down in Arendelle depending on her. It was the reality, a weighty thing she never much took kindly to. Knowing that they literally _needed_ her just to stay afloat was nearly sickening.

"They really are pathetic. All of them." She flexed her hand, materializing a menacing blade of ice from nothingness. "Assassins, heroes, politicians, do-gooders. All of them weak, mindless, powerless." She punctuated her statement with a clear, powerful swipe of the sword. The action caused a ringing throughout the palace. She imagined slitting the throats of her assailants deftly and with grace, proud of her powers.

But then she remembered.

"All except one."

The only one she regarded as truly, _truly _kindred. That fireball of auburn so in contrast to herself, yet revered so fondly by her. Anna knew of this, just barely, since Elsa had little time away from her rule, which she took to with great strength. It was the duty placed upon her by her family, and her family values would certainly not falter in the face of something so idle as a threat on her life.

It humored her to no end to think that some silly old man influencing his also-aging king actually believed he posed some sort of threat to her kingdom: Arendelle, the kingdom that had single-handedly claimed the seat of superpower in northern Europe. And nothing would stop her from furthering that, not when she had the means to affirm it, unlike many other monarchs before her.

They were all inadequate in her eyes. She, of course, regarded her parents fondly, and respected their seriousness in ensuring the safety of the people of Arendelle from her powers. But now that there was nothing to hold her affixed, she would never go back.

"Leonin," she called in an unfaltering tone, "some sherry, please." She did still have quite a spectrum about her. She was a queen, not a monster as some revered her. Threats were never, ever taken lightly, however. As much as they amused her, or so she would say, they never sat right with her.

Once her command reached the ears of her appointed servant, who had been with her for a few months now, he wasted no time in righting himself from the back of the throne room and going to the cellars. He honestly had no idea how she could manage it—keeping different temperatures in different parts of the palace. He simply thought, _Cold is cold, right?_ But he grew to understand that her control of her powers was something else entirely. She could regulate _specific parts_ of _specific rooms, _kind of like how she kept his spot behind her in the throne room more temperate, and all of the areas housing royal documents a more moderate temperature, as well.

This applied to the living quarters, also. His was kept as most humans would prefer: room temperature. She also delighted herself in a warmer environment as she slept, but the majority of the ice castle had to stay frigid to maintain structural integrity.

From the outside, the palace seemed to sparkle even at night. Blues, magentas, and golds had cemented themselves as the constituents of her signature aura. Some of her more friendly visitors had informed her that on clear nights, the palace stood out even more than the aurorae, shining like a far-off beacon atop the North Mountain.

She appreciated the attention. Well, she _was_ queen after all. The fact that her people thought about her still gave some other reason to rule as she did, apart from ruling in and of itself.

_Maybe that wasn't all right._

"Maybe." She said in the silence of the palace. She did not quiet her voice in the comfort of her domain as she looked to the serrated blade still grasped in her hand. "Maybe they're not all as pathetic as I make them out to be." She did harbor sweet spots for some of them—none of them outside of her dominion, however. She merely felt it necessary, or perhaps tasteful to clarify that she did not rule with an indifferent iron fist.

She did care about her people.

"I am the Queen, I am the protector, and I am the law. With my people under me, this kingdom will more than prosper." Bringing the blade up to her face, she smiled at her reflection in the immaculately-conjured ice. "I'll do everything in my power to make sure of that."

The blade then began to disappear from her grasp, no longer needing it. Truth be told, it was a design that she settled upon after much thought. It had to be ominous, toothy, and beautiful. Starting at the forked end of the blade, it slowly dissipated into intangible particles. They could be still be sensed by her, just like the air all around her. And at the moment the handle she had held finally dispersed, Leonin reentered with some sherry. The bottle didn't even swish as he walked in perfectly even strides.

As he approached, she reached down to the glass at her side to receive her request. She looked at the bottle in his hands and smiled slightly. "You didn't have to get my favorite, Leonin." Perhaps he thought she was stressed. Whatever it was, she was openly appreciative and more than ready to oblige. "1706, Amontillado. Only the finest for her majesty." He nodded as he poured the precious liquid into her frozen goblet adorned with the rosemailing from her coronation dress. No one had ever explained to her its origins, but she took a fondness to it.

She tipped her head to Leonin, and with that he deftly left her side to return the priceless bottle to the cellars.

She relished in the medium dry sweetness of the sherry. She knew well enough that age of a wine held most of its value, but, as queen, she'd probably be the only one to ever taste the contents of the vintage bottle. Royalty never had to worry themselves with mediocrity.

A ripple in her glass. Her eyes shifted at once to observe the motion. Starting from the very center of the goblet, a circle slowly enlarged as the surface of the liquid rose upwards toward the edge of the glass. Normally it would have gone completely unnoticed. The cup, however, sat at her side completely still. She had not stirred since her third sip of the wine.

The disturbance was unmistakable. Her only means of detecting it was the glass, which, like all of her conjured ice, acted as an extension of her perception. The instant that the liquid shifted within the goblet, she had felt it.

_A disturbance._

She counted 13 seconds before the next one finally came, making sure to remain completely still. She still said nothing. She could say nothing—only to wait for the inevitable next one. When the next 7 seconds had passed, the wine rippled twice with residue shaking.

_It's getting closer._

The knowledge seeping into her mind was genuinely telling. _Not even Marshmallow shakes the ground._

She would have none of it; fear was nothing. She stood from her throne, re-conjuring her familiar blade, Frostbane into her left hand. A large and especially reflective shield came into the grasp of her right.

As she stepped towards her front door, the rumble from outside only confirmed her suspicions. She had a fair idea ever since the second ripple, but slowly grew in certainty as to what the intrusion was.

_These aren't assassins._

They had certainly gotten bolder. Weselton had a lot riding on this operation, it would seem. Her air of effortlessness thought otherwise, however.

As she threw the doors of her ice palace open to the raging storm outside, she knew with finality that she had, indeed, been right.

"They most definitely upped the ante."

The sight would absolutely terrify anyone—literally _anyone_—other than her. She was still a young queen, but in her two-and-a-half years of reign she had already slain two of the foe before her.

_And this won't be any different._

She only smirked with impossible confidence.

"Touch me even once and I'll openly applaud you, gentlemen. Or, should I say, dragon trainers."

The roar that met her felt like a feather through her ears, almost like one of Anna's jokes but without the humor.

The men atop the massive creature said nothing. They could say nothing in the face of her majesty. Surely they were coming to terms with the fact that no one had ever exaggerated her sheer beauty and intimidation. She appeared as a valkyrie before them, with only one possible outcome.

In a moment, they lunged forward at her imposing form, seeing no immediate danger. The dragon beneath them roared mightily as all 100 tons of its form flew towards her, mouth gaping open to swallow her whole in one swift motion.

And then time stopped. Their vision, in a similar fashion, continued on for what seemed like an eternity—staring on and on at the exact same sight. And then a splash of red, consummate in its effect, ripped them from the trance. Given a scant few instants to make light of the occurrence, they fell short by a few miles to make heads or tails of what had just happened.

Poised perfectly before their motionless forms was the queen they had believed to be dead, her azure-blue blade pressed clean to the floor from where she was standing. Her eyes were closed, probably to ensure a most decisive blow.

In an infinitesimal span of time, the vision of her mind manifested corporeally as a searing wave of frost springing forth from Frostbane.

When she finally opened her eyes, the sight did nothing to surprise her. It was exactly as it had appeared in her head. The corner of her mouth curled up slightly at the sight.

_Nice try, Weselton. But still not good enough._

Suspended in the air by the strength of her icy projection were the dragon and its riders. With one true strike, she had ended their existences so quickly that surely no one could've caught the exact moment.

Sighing at the necessary disposal, she dissipated the articles of battle from her hands.

For a moment she thought she could've gone without Frostbane, but quickly remembered why she came to love the blade so: it acted as a very effective catalyst for her magic because it was paper-thin. While her magic blasts alone could petrify most anything, concentrating the blasts down into something so incredibly pinpointed yielded lethal results.

To say that it had been like cutting through butter was an understatement. As she could feel an attachment to all her ice, it came as a surprise to her that she felt _nothing_ as the ice ripped through her assailants. It had been the opposite of a struggle, even falling short of a cakewalk.

In one motion, she scourged all three of the bodies—one far larger than the other—with an onslaught of ice, merging their bodies with it. And just as quickly, she dissipated them into nothing. She had long-since concluded that it was the best way to keep the place spotless.

The slightly hurried steps behind her were awarded with the attention of her ears. She could hear a very slight pant, perhaps indicating that he hurried from the cellar.

"Your Majesty?" He called out. She closed the doors, and with a flick of her wrist she re-stabilized the internal conditions of the palace. Turning to Leonin, she smiled warmly. "It was nothing."

He gave her a knowing smile. Walking back to his place behind the dais, "I bid you goodnight, Leonin. As always, I appreciate your services." And with that, he again turned to her. "Goodnight, Your Majesty."

As he left her alone in the throne room, he could only think of how proud he was to have such a powerful queen.


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Here's something to give a bit more dimension to this rather small AU.****  
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><p>"Take care of the place, Leonin," she said regally.<p>

"Of course, Your Majesty."

She knew that he knew where the food and beverage stores were, so she did't let it worry her. He raised a hand feebly.

"How long will you be gone?"

"Only for a day or two. Will you miss me?" She almost laughed at her attempt of a joke.

"As much as I may. Is it in preparation for next month?"

Elsa brought a hand to her face briefly. "I might tell you when I return over some wine."

"As you wish, Your Majesty. Enjoy your time away."

He noticed how she walked over to the doors, fully aware that she didn't need any escort to the castle—not even from the top of the North Mountain. _Utterly majestic, _he thought.

She pushed the doors open, then left without another word.

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><p>The desk's lacquered surface had since accumulated fifteen smudges stacked on top of each other.<p>

"Damn that witch!"

Make that sixteen.

"Does she have any idea how difficult those dragons are to come by?" He huffed.

"My Lord, if it's any consolation—" he paused as he saw the bespectacled duke eyeing him with vitriol, "the keep informs us that there are eleven more where that came from." He wasn't at all expecting for the duke to step up from his chair and remove his sigil.

"That'll be all, Mr. Theodoro," he said, placing the seal back into a drawer in his desk. He turned his head to see the man gawking and red-faced.

"But _sir—_"

And the unsheathing of cold steel cut him off. "Do not make me repeat myself." The cane sword (a family heirloom) shone in the lamplight.

The man before him ceased his shifting motions. He only asked, "Why?" Having the sword point directly to his face, he gulped. "For being an imbecile the entire time I've known you, of course. Now leave."

_Damn duke and his ways. Fine, I'll gladly go, _he thought. The door closed with a mild slam, if it could be called that.

Having been left alone in the comfort of his office, he sheathed his weapon back to his waist. "Just a duke, they all say." He sat back down in his chair to look around each and every one of his accolades; all of which earned through a hard life. He sighed as his eyes fell to a specific document—one that all Weselton officials were to have a copy of in their office.

It was a treaty of peace with many surrounding kingdoms. Arendelle was one of them. He could still remember the terms of that particular engagement.

Fifty years prior, a sect of vagrants in Arendelle had heard legend of a plant in Weselton's borders that could grant a wish. While no one ever found the flower, much blood was spilt. Leading the vagrants was none other than Isaac Vodolvan; the same man who had tried to incite anarchy in his home kingdom in much the same manner. King Ulrich thought nothing of executing the fool for what he had done.

_Back when the old man could think. _He scoffed as he brought his elbows atop the ebony desk.

Arendelle inevitably wanted a declaration of peace, and seeing as how the actions of some vagrants could be excused, they were granted peace with the document on his wall.

Speaking into his hands, "Now the old man is too far gone to realize how much this damn country needs a good war. People starving, people begging, people estranged." His fingers dug into the palms of his hands. "And that Queen Elsa refusing us again and again; not giving us the trade we so very much need." He stood up and moseyed over to stare out his window into the purple of the night. "Curiouser and curiouser," he said, stroking his chin. "How could she have felled a grand dragon? Even if only an adolescent, that's still unheard of. I was sure that after speaking to it that no error would surface."

It was his least-known talent and his greatest secret. The Duke of Weselton, Albert Lichtenstein, could speak to dragons. He had discovered it on the fields of Moravia when he thought himself left for dead by his deserted platoon. His cries of regret and sorrow were met by a majestic creature, whisking him back home to give news of the conflict with the neighboring kingdom. The ride over he had discovered that the dragon's name was Gujanīr, as well as where it hailed from.

He had always known _of_ them; dragons were by no means mythical creatures. Agdar had once sent a regiment to deal with one that plagued the Valley of the Living Rock, fearing that the one source of wisdom regarding his eldest daughter would become as ash. They succeeded, but that was only a drake. Lord Helerin was nevertheless revered as a hero for leading the group.

"I'll make her pay. Even if it takes all the dragons on the face of the Earth, she'll pay." He then removed his glove as he returned to his seat at once. Removing an envelope, he pulled out the letter he had received earlier in the afternoon.

_Only for your eyes, Albert Lichtenstein:_

_The Queen disposed of the dragon in a single motion. The trainers you requested, Mr. Trellers and Mr. Sorren, were done away with as well. According to my watchman, who accompanied them from a distance, no evidence was left. She apparently did away with everything in a scourge of ice. _

_I do not presume to know your motives in all of this, but the Queen is planning a party for the princess in two fortnights' time. Should you plan you next move, I would suggest this date. But please remember that there are only so many dragons in our keep._

_I'll leave it at that. As always, no payment is necessary. We have faith that your plans will come to fruition._

_In secret,_

_Keeper Donovan_

It was now the second time he had laid eyes on the letter. And still he regarded it with much the same level of disbelief. Every part of him practically writhed with unmatched perplexity. _A single motion? How, with what?_ He did well to remember that he didn't correspond with the keep for chatty conversation, but wished that they could be a tad more forthcoming in responding.

He folded the letter and then held it over the open flame of his candle. After scrawling his reply, he removed a small knife from his coat pocket. Pressing the blade to his palm, he let just a single drop grace the end of the parchment. The droplet seemed to sear the paper as a red plume evaporated into the air. All that was left was a perfect blood seal in the form of a four-winged dragon. Packing away the letter, he once again stood at his window where a messenger bird had been pecking away; calling on him. Having sent it, he sat back down restlessly.

_Well, now that Theodoro's gone, I guess that leaves only me in this office. The silly man couldn't have been of much use to me anyway. Besides carrying papers to and fro, I'm not convinced he could even tie his shoes without his wife._

He looked around the glorified cubicle—a segmented ceiling with many parts to it, all with gold trim. The rug atop the polished floor was a deep purple color, adorned with Weselton's coat of arms.

A knock at the door took him from his brief reverie, causing him to glance at the clock. _Is it that time already?_

"Come in, Westergard."

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><p>The Queen had expected a relaxing evening, but nothing could've prepared her for what Anna had planned. Eventually they found themselves in a compromising position, laughing the world away.<p>

As giggly tears broke through the dam of her tear ducts, the eye shadow and blush on her peachy face had melted into each other, making her look like a true-blue carnival attraction. Elsa had thought that the funny faces they would make as young children were hilarious, but this was in another league.

So they laughed and laughed, and then laughed some more. Having exhausted all possible stimuli that could've further driven their fit of giggles, they slowly calmed. Anna removed herself from the frills of her sister's dress, wasting no time in saying, "You were right all along." She wiped her face as best she could. "One of your ice dresses would be the best idea."

Elsa nodded in agreement. "But it was worth it," she said as she moved in a manner exaggerating just how tight-fit and over-the-top the dress was, "even if only to laugh with you like that."

No one saw her like this. No one. _Except Anna._

It was an unspoken truth that only those closest to her were gifted even the slightest knowledge of. Her unflinching seriousness in the role of Queen Elsa almost certainly gave the impression that she was nothing more than the Ice Queen many knew her as. But it was there; the soft spot she had for her kin. _My blood._

Anna had offered to choose a dress for her sister that she believed fitting for the festivities of her 21st birthday. Elsa, of course, obliged since she was home to tend to grievances and other stuffy royal things—she was more than glad at the offer.

Her little sister had, admittedly, given her too much credit in assuming that their frames were near-identical. Elsa was just the slightest bit envious that Anna could eat all the chocolate she wanted and never show heads nor tails of it. So when she had gone through all the trouble of fully fitting the ruby-red dress to her body, it became obvious that the seams were begging for the torture to end.

She and Anna had just laughed it off instead, coming to the conclusion that Anna needed to be a little more realistic about her assumptions. _As a whole, perhaps._ But she couldn't care less.

"I'm sure you'll come up with something amazing," Anna said as they finally decided to put her fashion direction to the wayside.

Elsa just smiled. They now sat at the foot of her bed. Anna had her chin in her hands.

"I forgot all about Kristoff!"

Elsa remembered how long it had taken her to finally commit her name to memory, much to Anna's chagrin. She regarded the thought humorously. "Would you have him wear the same thing he saved you in?"

Anna put a finger up, eyes closed. "Correction—you saved me." Then she lowered the digit and opened her teal eyes. "And what the heck makes you think I would suggest such a thing?"

"Because you're Anna."

The younger girl just huffed and stood up for a stretch. "Lucky for you since you'd probably go nuts without me." She gave Elsa a grin as she breathed out, arms coming down from their stretch.

_You don't even know the half of it, Anna._

The powerful woman had become used to being looked at like some sort of tyrant, and her to-the-point way of running the kingdom had instilled in her the protectiveness necessary to go even further. But she was still human—that's what she told herself. That meant having to deal with emotions and problems just like anyone else, hence why she would spend every Saturday in Anna's company. She knew it was the only thing keeping her attached to the world.

It made her feel selfish at times; that maybe Anna would feel like she was simply a conduit for her less-seen side. Her little sister would always go out of her way to assure her that it wasn't a problem. In fact, according to Anna, she was more than okay with it. She was quite happy knowing that she got to see a side of Elsa that no one else did.

And they both saw the significance of it. They were truly there for each other. Anna, as her last blood relation and receiver of 13 years of isolation, was not going to be put to the wayside. Elsa.. well, Anna had always loved her. There was something about the redhead that made her galvanizing in every aspect.

Had her sanity—and perhaps humanity, as well—not been dependent on her sister, Elsa would say that she didn't deserve someone so full of life and love as a sibling. Instead she tried to never imagine life without the younger girl. She simply couldn't.

"What's this?"

"Oh, that thing?" Anna had picked up a piece of ice jewelry she made from Elsa's nightstand. "It's just an ice bracelet. Something I made in the early morning some while back." She already knew what to expect.

Her smile curled upwards. "Can I have it? Please?"

Elsa didn't bother herself with a playful refusal. "Of course. Here," she said as she did a wave of her hand about the bracelet, "that should keep you from melting it." Anna nearly dropped the icy art at the height of its imbuing. It flashed a pearly white briefly as the temperature got so cold it felt like burning needles, but only for an instant.

"So that's how you do it? You know, to keep stuff from melting?"

Elsa remembered the days when she had to make a permanent flurry over her creations to keep them from melting, save for her ice palace. It proved to be an inefficient method that required constant weather manipulation. Once she figured out the real source of her powers, she could just impart a piece of her being into something, thereby giving it never-melt status.

"That's right."

Anna smiled at the thought, slipping the bracelet onto her wrist. "It's like I'll never be without you," she said, giggling. "I love it."

Elsa just sighed and got up along with her. "I'm glad you feel that way." And then a yawn. "But your Queen is tired."

"Then go to bed, you sleepyhead."

As tempting as it may have been to just fall back onto the bed at that moment, she stood just a while longer. She figured she would at least wait until Anna left.

Instead, the younger girl went over to the window. She placed a hand against the glass as she looked out to the sky above.

And then her eyes strained to see the bright glint of an object hurtling towards her with blinding speed.

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><p><em>To be continued.<em>

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><p><strong>AN: Sorry if the fluff came as a surprise, but it was the only way I could think to show how different Elsa is around Anna. She is not unfeeling, by any means. Like I said before—as if the cliffhanger isn't any indicator—you'll get something nice and dark next chapter.**


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